Susi: F minor•
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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These are the men who lead
the crime families of America
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I control 26,000 men, except for dope,
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we operate in all aspects
Of organized crime,
and if there's one thing I'm sure of
It's that drugs destroy your mind
and destroy your home
In the end it'll only lead our
country into ruin
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Interlude 1
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Verse 2
toss salads and make rap ballads
The biochemical
slanglord'll throw the Arabs
In the dope fiend,
vocal chords switch laser beams
My triple sevens broke the slot
machines out in Queens
Grey Poupon is Revlon rap,
smack pawns, swing like batons
Most my niggas smoke
like Hillshire Farms
Check the gummy sole,
underneath my shoe lies the tap
That attract bow-legged bitches bitches
with wide horse gaps
In steel mills Iron he'll smoke
the blow on duns
You run errands,
Primatene Mist is afraid of my lungs
Turn my channel,
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it'll blow your whole bench off the panel
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Like eighty roman candles that
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backfired then slammed you
Every day is like a video shoot,
check this shit
I take it back to Playboy,
stash guns in whips
Picture afro picks,
shish kabobs and dashikis
Thousands civil marched,
raised their fists in early sixties
Verse 3
you must have been stupid to miss this one
Donna shogun-ing flip flip
a ton of fashion
Destination be the cash one,
I step past one
Don't make me blast one,
I'm cold like eskimo flow
Cappa villain stay chillin'
take shots of penicillin
Clean out and let the steam out,
she fiend to blow out
But I'm equipped with mad white,
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Morris The Rap got nine lives
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thousand dollar dives
And then I still never go down
Until the last round I shine
When RZA do his thing motherfucker,
I'ma do mine
Verse 4
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Now, where I come from cats
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be carrying, marrying drug money
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Fuck up your wife, get four to life
Cream we handling,
Midtown niggas scrambling
Move and examine the fly shit,
the whole gods astral
Fidel Castro suits plus depositing cash rule
Big time,
play it like Canadian wine
RZA's divine now,
the sacredness of one's true mind
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High roller coaster, Sosa,
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million dollar nigga roaster
Yeah God,
be having my whole steez laced
Now let's rap a taste, connect dots,
aim Glocks, train stop
Figaro fly jewelin', tri-color Cubans
Swerving we'll pow with Germans
in Suburbans
Twenty-four niggas with vests on,
my own restaurant
Dons sending my sons
membership forms
And still getting this paper scraper
Fake gators from Jamaica,
wizards be passing like Lakers
And it be coming from Lex
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Fetus style and blocking goals like hockey
Outro 1
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